unlike always
by daggers.silver
Summary: He bolts upright, like always, frantically kicking the blanket off his body, like always, tries to stave off hot moisture pricking the back of his eyes, shame, like always, and forces himself to take deep breathes even though it feels like there's a noose around his neck, like always. Except... unlike always, there's somebody in the room with him.


**A/N: surprise, surprise, yet anOTHER QP Jarchie fluffshot with angst that could not be avoided that you didn't ask for. Help me, I'm literally drowning in these two.**

 **Spoilers for Post-Grundy happenings.**

 **Rated T for implied/referenced rape, mild language.**

 **Lyrics from Bastille - An Act of Kindness**

000

 _An act of kindness_  
 _Is what you show to me_  
 _Not more than I can take_  
 _Oh, not more than I can take_  
 _Kindness is what you show to me_  
 _It holds me 'till I ache_  
 _Overflow and start to break_

000

It's not intentional.

It used to be, a deliberate attempt to fantasize, falling asleep thinking about her and waking flushed, unable to fall back asleep. He... he'd cared so much for her, so why wouldn't he?

But now he wakes, flushed, clothes sticking to his skin, and unable to fall back asleep for entirely different reasons. He hears her whispers in his ear, her fingers in his hair, her lips against his skin. It's always dark, but glowing pale yellow, smears across his eyelids as he feels her against him, pleasure, but a kindness fluttering in his chest...

And fear.

It starts small. A voice drowned out by theirs, waves lapping at his ankles. But it gradually rises as the dream continues until he's underneath and she's hovering above, fingers still trailing over his jaw, his throat, and then gentle turns to vicious as her grip pinches around his throat and _squeezes._

Sometimes he wakes up at that point. Other times, it goes on, her hands still latched to his throat as her lips return to his, her fingertips trailing down his back even while he's somehow still being strangled, water filling his nose, his ears, his mouth, his lungs.

Then he most definitely wakes, gasping for air in the darkness of his room, alone, clutching his chest and hoping his heart stops racing before it shatters to pieces.

It's the same, recurring, sometimes slightly different, but it always ends with him struggling to breath even though he has plenty of air, the ghost of her body flush against his.

And this night is no exception.

He bolts upright, like always, frantically kicking the blanket off his body, like always, tries to stave off hot moisture pricking the back of his eyes, _shame_ , like always, and forces himself to take deep breathes even though it feels like there's a noose around his neck, like always.

Except... unlike always, there's somebody in the room with him. They rise from the shadows of the floor and reach for him, cold appendages just barely brushing his arms before he's pulling away, pressing himself against the wall, his attempt to regain his breath pushed to the back of his mind even as he tries with a new vigor.

"Hey, hey, hey, Arch, it's just me, it's Jug," they say, voice thick from sleep but stark in the cotton-y silence of the night. He blinks several times against the shade and wills his eyes to adjust, just barely making out a familiar silhouette highlighted by the streetlamp shining through the window.

He stutters out a relieved breath, somehow grounded by the release of air, and he hurries to cling to the control, to the feeling of his lungs working properly.

"You-" he stops to swallow the ever-persistent lump in his throat. "You scared the shit outta me." It sounds like a joke, but it tastes sour in his mouth.

As Archie's eyes finally adjust, the figure that slowly attains the features of a familiar Jones takes a step toward the bed, but keeps its distance, a gesture that makes him feel both grateful and alone.

"I noticed," comes the reply, expression hidden in the black.

He simply nods, unable to reply otherwise, and breathing is easier now, cool like water, washing in and out of his body, though the tightness in his throat refuses to leave. The exposure of his upper body in the inky dark has him shivering and reaching for the nearest t-shirt crumpled around, choppily pulling it over his head and around his frame.

"Sorry for waking you," he creaks, pulling his blanket back up to his chin to hide a shudder.

The shadow of his friend only shifts in place, an audible sigh escaping through his nose. Apprehension knots in his stomach, and he frowns, folding his hands together and clenching hard.

"Jug?"

A pause, then, "Do you want to talk about it?"

Chills like ice water dumped into his veins freezes him in place, muscles bunching impossibly tighter along his arms, his back. He gulps down the temptation to bolt, or to hide, to keel over and burrow beneath his blanket forever, but that just leaves him holding his breath until his lungs burn.

An alarm in his head tells him to release it, and he does, making himself relax until his head thunks back against the wall.

"It was... Grundy," he summarizes, skin prickling as the name rolls so naturally off his tongue, a contrast to the wholly _unnatural_ and foreign sensations he's come to loathe in his dreams.

"...Oh."

He bites his lip until it throbs. Tears tickle his dry eyes at the quiet and simple response, the ambiguity leaving him with nothing but worry, embarrassment, _shame, always more shame-_

"Can I...?"

He blinks, swallowing in quick succession to keep back the nausea. "What?" A mere croak, _pathetic_ \- and Jughead gestures to the bed. _Oh._ "Uh, sure."

The mattress shifts as he's joined atop it, Jughead coming to sit beside him, close enough their shoulders touch but not _too_ close.

Then silence.

It's suffocating, crawling on his skin like mosquitoes, itchy, but he digs his fingertips into his knuckles to keep from moving. Jughead disapproved of their... _thing_ from the very beginning, the moment he figured it out, he tried to warn him, protect him, but Archie didn't listen. Like the fool he was, he didn't, he turned a blind eye, he distanced himself from his _best friend_ because of...

"Have you talked to someone about it yet?"

He eases out a shaky breath.

'It'.

"My dad doesn't have the money," he says, a half-truth.

 _And I don't want to._

"The school probably has someth-"

"I don't want it, Jug," he says, expecting the aggravation in his chest to come forth, but he only hears exhaustion.

"I know... but you need help. Not because there's something wrong with you, but because what happened to you was fucked up, and anyone would need to talk to someone after something like that."

"Nothing _'happened'_ to me; I chose what I did. I don't need a stranger to tell me things that didn't happen, that I'm a victim, that I didn't know what I was doing," he insists, wrapping his arms around his knees and pulling them close to his chest, throat working.

"You don't know that's what they'll say," Jug offers, but it's weak and they both know it.

"I consented to _everything,_ Jug. I wasn't..." but he can't force the word out, and he feels Jughead shift a little closer.

"I know... but that doesn't mean she didn't use you. That doesn't mean she's innocent, and that doesn't mean you're... not entitled to feel betrayed, or even a little messed up." A beat, a tentative hand on the back of his neck. "You're allowed to be upset. You're allowed to break—to hurt. Sometimes you need to break a little in order to put yourself back together again."

And despite himself, a wet laugh forces its way from his lips, and he sniffs, surprised at the amount of liquid gathered in his eyes.

"Did you get that one from a fortune cookie?" he jokes, letting the smile reveal a few teeth, though it's anything but happiness pressing heavy on his chest. He feels more than sees Jughead smile back, and the hand below the base of his skull gives a comforting squeeze.

"Maybe, but... you get what I'm saying, right?" Another squeeze, and Archie leans into the touch, feeling the soft wave of tears gather behind his eyes until the room blurs. He nods, words clogged in his throat. Another hand covers his own left one, and he's pulled close, nose inches from Jughead's collarbone, Jughead's chin set on the top of his head.

Maybe it's because Jughead is hardly ever so soft that he feels his own struggle to hold it together fade. It ebbs away as Jughead's breath wafts against his scalp, the wall of tension built to keep his emotions at bay crumbling brick by brick. It's not violent, or invasive, just quiet prompting to let it fall. And he does, the process a lot less painful that he imagined it would be, brick disintegrating to leaves catching a gust of wind. Tears drip quietly, breaths controlled and long to keep himself from dissolving into anything dramatic, as much as he knows Jughead wouldn't mind. In fact, he'd probably encourage it, but a small part of Archie can't bear to let go that completely, so he settles for silent cries, lungs taught like a bowstring when a sob threatens to burst.

He doesn't slice at the feelings of betrayal, of violation, as unfair as they seem in his mind. To blame his ex-music instructor for his pain, his collapse, his struggle to keep his head above water, even though he'd welcomed her with open arms, it feels wrong.

But Jughead's words spin in circles through his head, a mantra to keep him afloat, so he tries not to fight it. He leaks tears until he's drained, emotionally, psychically, fog draped like a pillow over him and filling his head.

"I'm sorry," he whispers, startling himself by the sudden admission.

"For what?"

He's not even sure 'for what'.

"For everything. I... I don't deserve you, or Betty, or my dad-"

"Let me stop you right there, Red," sprouts like vines crawling into his bones, calming and warm as Jughead pulls away to meet his eyes. "You deserve each and every good thing you've got in your less-than-ideal life. You deserve _more_ than that. You deserve... _so much more_ than what this shitty town's given you, Arch."

The words sound so... _genuine,_ but Archie can't bring himself to fully absorb them, so he only shrugs. "You do too. All of you."

A sigh, almost exasperated, though fond. "Let me make you a deal: I'll believe _that_ if you believe _me._ " His eyes twinkle with easy frustration in the dark, and Archie's struck by just how much he missed Jughead during the summer.

He manages a small smile.

"Deal."

When he finally falls back asleep, he dreams of nothing but color, deep blues and warm pinks, browns, grays, and feather-light touches are drowned out by solid arms wrapped around his shoulders.

000

 _I hope you find the love that's true_  
 _So the morning light can shine on you_  
 _I hope you find what you're looking for_  
 _So your heart is warm for ever more_

000

 **Lyrics from Benjamin Francis Leftwich - Shine**

 **A/N: Why do all my oneshots of these two end with them falling asleep? Idk, but I have no problem with it. Aaanyway, I really hated how this was just skimmed over in the show, so hERE'S THIS things that you didn't ask for. Archie deserves all the Hugs. I just want him to be happy.**


End file.
